It is into
and gives us
I am with
and in the
may go where
between sky and
It is into
the old ancient
broken bone I
filled with soft earth.
This is one
place I will not seek
crushed by things I cannot
there is no
It is into
There is no
of a musical
wets your soul.
from places you
will have prepared
and yet here
in the dark
perhaps too quickly
caught up and suddenly want
to be there.
rising inside you
like new blood.
need to move.
I don’t know.
Are all that
Or they were
A sense of
And I think
what was supposed to be
a breath of
The lips I was kissing were
close back in my mind
And fingers dancing with hands
caressed the back of my neck.
I was curled
to my toes
And I remember
It could not
I woke up
looking at the alarm.
in a place
where it shouldn’t be
but I put
down to the kitchen to make
looking at the rain when
dressed and drove him to school
In the rain.
I had eleven
students of my own this
morning and I
told one he needed to start
He said I was
the best teacher he’d ever had.
And I took
the garbage out in the rain.
are going to be
its mark on
and I have
to let you sleep
I read into
memory of the
They tell me
I ain’t quite
But I’ve put
the garbage out
smells pretty much the same.
But I do not
wish to complain.
I might like
toward the dawn.
There is often a simple declarative triggering event. Rain is falling. The wind picks up and leaves, heavy with rain
begin to drop again. I don’t know if the
boys are gone or not. I am pretty sure
Michael Is gone to work. I’d give an
even chance that Daniel is sleeping past noon.
This is a public service announcement.
We are the Borg. We will fuck you
up. Resistance is futile. This is why everyone feels so futile. Their levels of anti-futile have been drained
during the night, so that by morning they wake up ready for the Borg.
It is really Saturday, not Monday. I call my Mother every Saturday. Ok, sometimes I do not call my mother on
Saturday. Sometimes I am in the Twist,
or otherwise too fucked up to call my mother on Saturday and I call her on
Sunday. Sometimes I really fuck up and
do not call her at all and in that case I can expect a call from my mother or
from my father by Monday, if he has not already called on Sunday. My mother will most likely not call herself
being peeved because I have not called her Saturday.
It is still Saturday.
I call my Mother every Saturday.
This is a practice I highly recommend.
My mother recently had an accident which affected her hearing. If she understood this, and if she were aware
of it, she would enjoy it more. “How is
“I don’t have a cold anymore.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“It only lasted a couple of days.”
“We got flu shots. You should get flu shots.”
“I might do that.”
“Well, you might have to wait then until you are over it.”
“Yes you are right.”
“Take better care of yourself.”
Of course my hearing is not much better than my
mothers. I have been frustrating my own
children for years, and before that my employees. I have that loss in the range of 4,000 hz
where consonants are formed, so that I can tell that people are speaking, but I
cannot always pick out the exact words they are saying. So my brain has to “fill in” the missing
pieces with results something like an early speech to text program. I “hear” the dandiest things. Everyone around me is constantly using exotic
metaphors to communicate what they want for breakfast.
Daniel floats down the stairs. It is still Saturday, 1:30, close to his
normal Saturday wake-up time of 2:00 pm.
He wanders into the kitchen. He
is hungry. He must want grandpa to fix
him breakfast. Grandpa should get up and
fix him some breakfast. Uck. I need some motivation. What is wrong with Grandpa? Why is he
listening to this David Benoit GRP recording he bought at the thrift store for
$1.67? It is typical GRP David
Benoit. Sparkling recording of
uninspired music and excellent technical proficiency. Life should not be like this. GRP you got it wrong, somehow.
All humans feel fear.
It is at its base part of our heritage received from the life forms from
which we have evolved. It has a
function. It keeps us from doing things
that are physically or socially dangerous.
Yet there are some of us who can turn fear off. Even peole who are normally paralyzed with
fear at their base level can perform acts which would terrify others by using
simple mental tricks which isolate them from fear. They are able to separate themselves from the
body that seems threatened. It is a trick they often cannot control completely.
It is a simple one and I only have three more to go. Michael is sleeping upstairs while the TV
displays a show about strange sightings and a UFO. It does not even hold my
attention and I wonder if it is seeping into Michael’s dreams. It is wet out back where I work in my study
in the lower part of the house. The deer
are not visiting this morning. I wonder
about my affinity for the woods. They
seem to call to me. The call is not a
loud one but it is persistent. What do I
I don’t know what to think.
They sneak around behind me and then crawl out onto the back porch like
reptiles. I feel like I have been
violated. They must have left a door
open. I can already smell the cigarette
smoke. I’m going to need an Ativan here. Strike one?
I said we’d try it out. It is
already invasive. I knew it would be
invasive. Can I have a couple friends
over for a couple hours? What’s a couple
friends? Four or five. What’s a couple hours? Ten o’clock.
That’s five hours. I know exactly
what to think.
I don’t know what made the ears start ringing again. The curioser thing is that sometimes they
stop. The ringing is the normal state
and I would not even notice it except that sometimes they stop and this
stopping has me wondering if it is a sugar level or a congestion level or some
other thing that I can control making them ring and there is, consequently
something I can do to make them stop.
But Jesus, what madness that thinking can lead to. I was so sure that she would come if only I would
do the right thing.
I will not
say it is easy
My brain is
The man boy
with his package
To hide it
while his mother
from the door.
I do not
know what brew
hell she may
me this time
But I am
needs a visit from his mother.”
are about control
And I am
It is not
much turbulence and
I seem to have
There are times (too many of them) when I seem to exist only
in this document. These words
exist. The entity typing the words,
writing these words or whatever it is doing, does not exist. These words exist. They have always existed. They will always have existed. They will never cease to have existed. They do not lend any credibility to a “me.” When I walk away from here I begin to lose
coherence. I begin to fade and start to
be absorbed by the ideas and things around me.
I no longer exist. If I come back I might.
I had a plan, one that provided for continuing as well. But
of course there is something else nudging at me that seems to need digesting
first. So I must deal with it. I am
setting an alarm for one hour and 45 minutes from now on my phone to wake me at
6:30 should I go to sleep. I suppose
this is part of …what?
It is part of the thing nudging at me now, nudging me so that
I have made the coffee, taken the Ativan, and settled down at the keyboard
where I will surely fall asleep.
It is part of the thing nudging at me that I have settled
down at the keyboard where I will surely fall asleep even though my new chair
is not as comfortable as the old one was.
I no longer know how many chairs I have gone through but my son says I
have gone through three, maybe four in fairly rapid succession in the past few
years, all with the same problem: the left arm broken off. I paid attention to how I used my chair and
discovered after some study that I had literally pushed the things apart.
Yes, I had developed a habit of getting up by pushing out on
the arms and that pressure over a short period of time—less than a year for the
last chair—literally pushed these chairs apart.
So now I dismount moving forward slightly and pressing down on the
arms. I got this chair at the local
Salvation Army and it is made differently.
The frame is not half-inch plywood but is solid wood some pieces of
which are two inches thick. One piece
still has the bark on it. The springs
look like they came off a ’48 Buick.
The upholstery on my new chair is worn in a few places, but
nowhere is it worn through. A solid supple leather, I think it will last many years.
Add to this that it is a sort of maroon
color that matches absolutely nothing in my house, it is sure to last forever
just for spite.
My fingers pause. I
respire. After this many years of
breathing in and out it is an act that desires to be designated as
respiration. Breathing is too pedestrian
a word for this and I have long ago become far too conscious of it.
Of course I did have a plan for starting here, an ambitious
plan, and I still have this plan, but I will have to shove it aside for a
while. I yawn. My eyes close. My head falls back against the chair and I
consider taking out my bite splint. I reach
for a drink of my coffee.
I am feeling a little
weak in the middle. I may have pulled a
muscle or something but it is nothing to worry about. I have wonderful genetic powers of
self-healing. My family history is full
of impossible stories about similar things.
Genetic super powers.
Now there is something to consider. My family is full of babbling
rocking chairs whispering these unlikely stories but no one has ever stopped to
consider their meaning. I have because I
have actually lived through several of them.
My father is a 90-year-old walking medical impossibility. My mother may well be too, although it would
be strange for them both to have the gene that one of my physician friends
described to me. The superman gene he
called it. A free ticket, he said, to do
whatever you want in life, medically anyway and never worry.
This bite splint is coming out. I gently let my jaws align, finding their
place, along teeth that are in the wrong place.
I should go back to my old dentist, the one who simply fixed a problem
instead of arguing that I didn’t have it in the first place. I was a much happier man when my own teeth
fit together when I closed my mouth.
People always underestimate their teeth.
I had this beautiful plan for proceeding here but it went
out the window along with my night’s sleep when at two AM my grandson came home
I had this carefully crafted plan for working here, but it
went out the window when at two AM my grandson came home drunk crashing up the
stairs and pounding me from a sound sleep. I became angry. I so rarely become angry but I was blood
vessel popping angry tonight and I had to think because when you are angry,
well it seems to me that you are rarely angry about the thing you think you are
angry about; rather you are often angry about something else. And truly, I have no idea yet what I was
I yawn, rub my eyes and wonder if I will have the mental
acuity to deal with my job this morning.
I can skimp on some parts, but most of it is one-on-one teaching and
most of my students are smart enough that I have to be alert to confront them.
I have noticed that when I am getting sleep, my teaching goes well and my class
schedules are full. When I am shorting
my sleep, my teaching gets ragged and I begin to get gaps in my class
schedules. No sleep means longer hours
in the evenings writing corrections.
I pause again, actually placing my hands on my chest to
rest. At this rate I will most likely
actually fall asleep around 5:30 and will soundly sleep through my first two or
three classes. Yes Madam Supervisor, I
had a phone problem this morning. It is
very similar to the phone problem I have on Friday nights that is going to
require me to take full control of the house network and shut down all x-box,
laptop, TV and phone internet traffic while I am trying to teach. I am not sure this will solve my Friday night
I think the issue is that on Friday nights the entire
country is hogging what bandwidth there is and there is not enough.
This chair is by far one of the most uncomfortable chairs I
have ever had. I simply cannot find a
comfortable position in it even though it is nearly infinitely adjustable. Perhaps it may be that I just have not
learned to use it. Like so many other
things that come with such a vast array of capabilities I find I am overwhelmed
and pick only the basic few I need to “get along” with the beast.
I just don’t think sleeping is possible in this chair. But how can you tell whether sleeping is possible
in a chair when you are buying it? That
is a thing you have to actually test pilot to know, preferably a couple of
times. You cannot just plop down in a
showroom chair and say “this is it.” It
doesn’t work that way.
Now when I close my eyes I can hear myself making funny
noises with my mouth as I breathe. I am
that close to going to sleep. I really
need to move this show to the couch.
I only have an hour
left before it’s time to begin work. God
I am going to be a mess. What will it
be? More coffee or an hour’s sleep?
It turned out to be the hour’s sleep, and it was not nearly
enough. I had this devilish plan for
proceeding here but it has been said that while it is necessary, planning is
useless. I slept through my 6:15 alarm
upstairs. I think Michael Jr. must have
turned it off. Why he didn’t wake me, I
don’t know. Fortunately, I had set my
phone as a backup down here.
The teaching was difficult, I could not possibly take notes,
and I was propping my head up with both hands while talking. Headsets are wonderful inventions. I am still grateful to my son Tom for the Jabra
he got for me. I had an elegant plan for
the work here, but it has been set aside for the moment. I was scheduled for three fairly solid hours
of teaching, retiring to the couch behind my desk at the bell, with the
fireplace going. It was cold this
morning. It’s been getting that way,
running close to freezing in the mornings.
Ach. Splot for the
fantastic illumination I had before I sat down to work here. Perhaps that was the problem, coming to the
workstation ass first. If I only had
come in with the presence of mind to stand on my head or to sit on my own
face. I was sleeping when the boys left,
yet I knew they were leaving, so in and out of sleep I was, but I had lost
track of the time. I think I got up in
the afternoon, early. Maybe it was one o’clock. I had this great idea to write about.